An Empty Vessel
by gietzeng
Summary: For the blue mage, power has a price.


An Empty Vessel

She is 9, and adrift on the rain-slicked streets of Deling City. She stares up at the mountains of glass and steel and refuses to think of herself as lost, because lost implies a found. Lost would illuminate the path between where she is and where she belongs. And now, forevermore, there is nowhere she belongs – certainly not in the hateful embrace of her foster parents.

As they cross her mind, she shudders, then looks up to the sky and allows the rain to wash over her face. The future looms uncertain before her, but for the first time, she feels free.

She turns down an alley. She has been walking since she fled the house, and with night falling, she needs to find a place to stay. The buildings come together at the end of the alley, and the overhanging ledges will deflect the water for the night.

She curls up in a corner, instinctively pulling her limbs in tight for warmth. In front of her, she sees a creeper, a vine crawling up the wall, despite the tireless efforts of Galbadia's legion of gardeners. The vine forced itself into the cracks of the city, wedging itself between cracks in cement. She smiled at the resilient plant.

_That's what I have to do_, she thought, closing her eyes.

"You have taken the first step," purred a voice on the fringe of her consciousness.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she stirred. A flash of lightning illuminated a figure standing over her. She noticed his eyes, first; they seemed to glow in the dim light. They peered out from behind a veil of blue silk, a scarf, wrapped all the way around his head, as though he were crossing a great desert. The rest of his clothes are a darker shade of blue, midnight turned real, covering every inch of him.

She tries to process his appearance and, after a moment, notices that the rain seems to wash _away _from him, diverting its course around his body. Another flash of lightning, almost blinding, over his shoulder. For a split-second, he appears in silhouette, but not that of a man, of something larger, more bestial.

He extends an arm, pointing to the street beyond. She follows with her eyes and sees the people passing by, throngs of them, moving impossibly fast. They seem _different _somehow, inexplicably small and sad. She sees the thousand fears and frustrations that motivate them, the inadequacies that eat away at them from within, the crushing demand for stability. She can see the unease in their flickering eyes, restlessly searching for danger like prey.

Comprehension rolls over her, profound and staggering. Something in her refused to hide, no matter how much her foster parents silently begged her to be normal.

"Would you be like them?" he asks.

"No," she breathes, unsurprised to find she has risen to her feet.

He faces her again, and she can sense a smile behind his veil. "You can be so much more."

Her heart starts to race.

"You will have to make a sacrifice. You will lose something precious, although you might never miss it. Are you willing?"

"Yes," she nods, a child and certain for the first time.

He reaches for her. "Take my hand."

As her hands close around silk, she almost crumples. The hunger consumes her, like nothing she's ever known, the desire to understand, to comprehend. She has felt it her entire life, down to her bones, but only now does she understand its full depth.

He kneels beside her and their eyes meet. "You are an empty vessel, newly made. Always, you will take your strength from your enemies."

He turns and melts into the night.

She does not sleep that night, walking the streets of Deling City and _learning._

She is 19 and surrounded by hostiles. Her team has been drawn into a trap, and she is the sole survivor. As they close in on her, she feels the sun of the Kashkabald Desert beating down on her, and she smiles. Needles erupt from her skin, exploding outward, catching them in the face. They recoil in pain, and she sprints away with inhuman speed, too fast for them to catch.

Before they can start shooting, she is a cloud of dust on the horizon. Her body floods with the joy of escape. When she has covered her tracks thoroughly enough, she comes to a stop, little ones crowding around her, mistaking her for one of their own. Together, they turn their faces to the sun and take in its energy.

She leaves them as night falls. Knife in hand, she picks her way across the desert, the flickering light of a lantern marking her trail. She can feel the rancor building in her heart, the anguished, impossible grief at her fallen allies. She moves silently, a ghost in sackcloth, too insignificant to notice, even as she moves into killing range of the guards.

They fall silently, and she sets upon their comrades, asleep in their bunks. None of them live to see the sunrise, and when the extraction team comes to get her, they find themselves unsettled by the gore.

She is 27 and they have made camp in a cave overlooking the snows of Trabia.

She moves away from the fire, staring out over the horizon, pacing. She hears the chattering of teeth behind her, but her parka is unzipped. She only wears it as a conciliatory gesture to the others. Beneath her skin, she is a snow lion, all bristling pelt and rending claws.

On the wind, she smells their prey, and she is anxious to resume the hunt.

"Cocoa, Quisty?" Selphie calls from the fire, raising a mug of the decidedly non-field issue beverage. Quistis turns to look, shakes her head, returns to pacing.

"You're not _normal_," Selphie laughs.

Quistis stares into the distance, to the point where sea and sky merge.

Sometimes, she wonders.


End file.
